11/22/2024
He led me into a steel warehouse. Tools and work tables lined the walls. We walked around a bulky chain driven electric hand truck. Further afield on the floor lay a vehicle chassis and some scattered parts. Not far away sat the detached truck body that belonged with the chassis. The place seemed like a Steampunk movie about a man from the 1800's who was building a space ship to the moon.
Oliver was in his late 60's and tall and slender in build with slightly scattered white hair. I never saw him dressed in other than jeans and a ruffled plaid cotton shirt or an old faded beekeeping suit. He dressed for practicality and comfort rather to make any kind of impression. His speech was soft, slow, and deliberate.
One time after I had purchased some honey from Oliver, I asked him directions to some place. We strolled out to his dirt / gravel driveway and Oliver picked up a stick. He proceeded to draw lines with the stick...."You go north on 'whatever it was street', then go west on 'such and such street'.... continue for half a mile till you see the big church, then go south a quarter mile....and there it is."
Most all of us relate to the world as though we are the center of the universe as evidenced in our "left, right, straight" orientation centered on our own physical position. I was taken aback for a moment....here was a man who related to the universe....in a way that he was a part of the universe. He knew where he was in relation to the natural world and used natural landmarks like the sun and geography to know his directional orientation. Wow I thought....what a different relationship with the world.
Oliver had graduated from UC Berkeley with an engineering degree but got tired of corporate life and returned to the Sacramento Valley to run his father's beekeeping business. Oliver still liked to invent and tinker...he designed and built the electric fork lift and electric hand truck that he used to move 55 gallon honey barrels, and he was remodelling his father's ancient Model T beekeeping truck.
The year was 1988 and I had finished graduate school but had no practical employment plans for my Independent Studies psychology degree. I was burned out on being a bartender...which helped me get through school, but it wasn't something I wanted to do as a long term career. I had been bitten by the passion for beekeeping and had a few hives. I was producing more honey than I could give away to a few friends and was selling honey at a couple of Farmer's Markets. Soon I sold out of my honey inventory.
Ralph was an older beekeeping mentor and friend and had told me: "You should buy some star thistle honey from my friend Oliver. Star thistle is wonderful honey and he has some of the best." And yes, Oliver did have the best star thistle honey. Back then...the non-native star thistle plant had taken over the northern Sacramento Valley and there were areas where you could drive in the summer and see yellow flowers for miles. Oliver had some of the best locations for his bees where the nasty spikey star thistle plants had completely taken over.
Oliver was a connoisseur of star thistle honey. He had numerous stacks of 4 gallon square white buckets that were filled with honey. He would tell me: "Now this lot is star thistle that also has some toyon flowers, this next lot is star thistle that has some alfalfa, and here's a lot of pure star thistle." Pure star thistle is a pale yellow honey that looks like the sun kissed it and imbued it with what I call a feint soft sweet lemon flavor.
I sold Oliver's star thistle honey (along with a few other varieties of honey) at the Farmer's Markets to the delight of customers. The following year I walked into the Berkeley Bowl Market with a jar of star thistle honey. I held the jar up to the window light so the buyer could see the sun shine its rays through the beautiful pale yellow prism and said: "Would you like to buy some star thistle honey?" Star thistle honey was my "foot in the door" and later on I brought in other honeys to stock the shelves.
The Berkeley Bowl was a funky grocery store that inhabited an old bowling alley on Shattuck Street in Berkeley. They had the standard market fare, but specialized in a huge variety of bulk items and produce that was reasonably priced and ripe to eat off the shelf. Lots of small independent vendors such as myself stocked the store shelves with their specialties. The atmosphere was casual and friendly. A pair of pigeons nested above the receiving door, sparrows occasionally flew through the receiving warehouse, and someone occasionally counted the inventory of honey that I brought into the store. Often a clerk greeted me and nodded as he viewed me wheeling my cases of honey into the store. The policy lacked security, but the trust in my integrity forged a sense of loyalty and commitment in me.
The parking lot at the original Berkeley Bowl store was too small to accomodate the many customers, and the store moved into an old Safeway store that had gone out of business. Gradually, and with the addition of an even newer fancier store...everything became more professional and corporate. It all made sense, but over time it became more and more impersonal.
I still enjoyed my friendly interactions joking with employees when I delivered honey, but management became more remote. My infrequent interactions with some people in management were somewhat condescending....as if I was a "lowly employee" working for them rather than a partner. Over the years I learned how much honey I needed to bring in and how often ...in order to keep the shelves stocked. It was a pretty smooth "turn key" operation....I brought in the honey, stocked the shelves, and they wrote me a check. I was grateful as well because the checks paid the mortgage on my house, and during some earlier years when I was a vagabond....the checks were my only lifeline.
I've purposely kept my business small so that I could keep it personal and maintain quality. I've turned down opportunities to sell more honey in more venues. Larger commercial sellers often overheat the honey and highly filter it in order to keep it liquified so that machines can quickly pump it into jars. I've continued to sell raw often crystalized honey that I put in the jars manually. I listen to music as I work, and the endeavor has often been an inspiration for reflection and writing.
At the beginning of the Covid Pandemic I surmised that social activities would be extremely limited, so I opted to spend more time working at my honey stand to see people and continue making an income. People lined up at the honey stand and were grateful for a safe outdoor locale in a beautiful coastal setting where they could connect with people and buy honey. I made social distancing and disinfecting a fun game which also made people feel more comfortable and lightened our days. Sales steadily increased at the honey stand and at the Berkeley Bowl.
When I deliver honey at the Berkeley Bowl I often talk with customers and they think I'm a delivery guy (I am) and then are surprised that I'm "Michael." They enthusiastically tell me that they've been buying my honey for years. Sometimes they want pictures with me. Sometimes they want to call their spouse to chat with me. Employees have told me that customers call the store to find out when I've delivered honey.
I've been intimate with the life of bees and played a part in the amazing process of liquid nectar in flowers becoming honey in jars, but I've viewed myself as a modest honeybee laborer...so the passionate customer zeal often baffled me. Then I realized that people sense my intimate relationship with bees that I gained from doing live bee removal over the years, and they appreciated the quality of my honey that I refused to compromise.
People were surprised when I quit the Berkeley Bowl account a few weeks ago. It's the most lucrative account for most vendors and those on the outside envy the opportunity to have their products stocked on Berkeley Bowl shelves. It recently became clear to me that the relationship with the "Old Berkeley Bowl" that I recognized had been waning for years has expired. They don't understand or appreciate my business (except for $$) and there's no semblance of loyalty that comes from long term relationships.
I am appreciative of many good memories over 35 years with some wonderful people and grateful for a solid business relationship that financially helped support me in some good and bad times. It feels empowering to now let go of the financial benefits in favor of integrity and time. I feel a sense of freedom and acknowledgement of success...to walk away or jump when I am at the top of my gain. My house needs attention, and I want to spend more time gardening, writing, relaxing, and finding time again for social activities.
On my last honey delivery day at the Berkeley Bowl I thought about Oliver and some of the other wonderful people who I had met over the years. A beekeeper friend who also knew Oliver had told me months before that Oliver was over 100 years old and had moved into a care home facility. I had a feeling...that prompted me when I got home to search for Oliver online...and that feeling was confirmed when I read that Oliver had died a couple of weeks earlier. It felt fitting to me that Oliver was part of the first day when I walked into the Berkeley Bowl, and somehow there in spirit as I had felt him the last day that I walked out.
